


Something For That

by Malu_3 (Grainne)



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Arthur's glorious moobs, Banter, Canon Era, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nipple Licking, Nipples, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-24
Updated: 2015-09-24
Packaged: 2018-04-23 05:02:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4864133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grainne/pseuds/Malu_3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the prompt: <i>Arthur chafes his nipples. Merlin soothes them. With his mouth.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Something For That

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alby_mangroves](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alby_mangroves/gifts), [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> Written for [Lip Service: The Panfandom Commentfest](http://alby-mangroves.livejournal.com/65822.html) for Violette_Royale's delectable prompt and in celebration of Alby_Mangroves' everything, up to and including her birthday. *\0/* Please check out the other delicious fills at the above link (or peruse the collection here on AO3)!

"Why're you hunching like that?"

"I am not hunching."

"Yes, you are. Are you injured? Did one of those men – "

"Merlin, for pity's sake, leave it! I am _not_ hunching."

Merlin narrows his eyes, sets his lips in a firm line. He keeps silent as the trout skins crisp and leak juices to sizzle in the flames below. But once they've tucked into their meal, he tries again. 

"I am, as you are often fond of saying, useless with a sword."

"Never a truer word has been spoken. What of it?"

"Yes, well, I don’t mean to fuss, but…" Merlin swallows, meeting Arthur's eyes across the fire. "If we are to rescue them, we'll need you at full strength. And I am apprenticed to the Court Physician, so if by some chance you _were_ injured today…"

Arthur frowns and ducks his head. "It's not…" He tosses the fish bones into the fire to hiss and pop, sucks the last of the oily juices from his fingers. "I wasn't injured. Only that the day was warm, and my shirts seem to have shrunk of late – don't think I haven't noticed, Merlin – and with all that running…"

Merlin clucks his tongue in sympathy. Damned inconvenient, crossing paths with those damsel-menacing bandits. Doubly inconvenient considering it was all a diversion to rob them of their horses. Merlin's only glad Arthur is travelling in his disobeying-Father's-orders incognito best, as a prince would fetch a heftier price than a horse. 

"Aye. I'm sore myself, sire." He leans over to rummage in his pack. "I've some balm of arnica in here, somewhere, if your legs – "

"Dammit, Merlin! I'm not… It's my chest, all right? It's rather…chafed."

Merlin pauses. Blinks. Shivers. Might or might not lick his lips. "Apologies, sire, but when you say your 'chest', do you mean your nipples?"

Arthur grunts his assent.

Merlin exhales, biting back the urge to snipe, to say, "Well why didn’t you just tell me?" 

In his heart, he knows exactly why. Arthur has never been one to complain or admit to any bodily weakness, but of late he's been particularly sensitive about his chest. Much of the previous winter's insulation was sweated off on the training ground or worked into new muscle, but the pectoral padding has remained, often thrusting his nipples into prominence beneath clinging tunics and giving his bare chest a womanish – and, Merlin thinks, rather fetching – aspect.

Instead, Merlin keeps his eyes steady on his pack and his voice even. Soothing. "Think I have something for that as well. Take off your shirt?"

He doesn't mean for it to come out as a question, but Arthur's huffed, "Oh, very well" makes him aware of how neatly it works to his advantage. Arthur, he reminds himself, needs to feel in control – but not that he's taking advantage. That's the beauty of him, the tangled, shining knot that Merlin can't escape, nor quite manage to unpick.

"Well?" Arthur says, typically impatient now that his secret is out. From the corner of his eye, Merlin can see that he's removed his shirt and fisted it into a ball beside his thigh.

He finds the pouch he's looking for and stands, still avoiding a direct gaze as he circles the fire to kneel at Arthur's side. "Lie back, please. I'll need to… _oh._ "

"What? Merlin, why are you staring at my – ow! What are you doing? Did I not just tell you that they've been rubbed raw?"

Merlin snatches his finger back, biting his lip. They are – rubbed raw, that is. A pretty colour in the firelight, but puffy and, on closer inspection, on the verge of bleeding, the pouting areolas seeming to blend into the enflamed skin beyond.

He mumbles an apology, patting Arthur's wrist, his thigh. Not once taking his eyes off those poor, abused nipples as he tucks a pinch of the herb mixture into his mouth and begins to chew.

"What on earth?" Arthur props himself up on his elbows. "That's disgusting. Surely you're not going to – "

He breaks off, swallowing heavily as Merlin spits the masticated herb mixture into his palm. 

"It'll help, sire, I swear. A compound poultice to reduce the inflammation and prevent infection, and the horsemint will soothe – "

"But your mouth – "

"Animals lick their wounds, do they not?" Merlin feels himself raising a brow in imitation of his mentor, even as he repeats his words. He presses the mixture to Arthur's right nipple, steels himself not to flinch at the resulting jerk and hiss. Half the trick to healing knights, as Gaius has explained, is convincing them that the remedy will be effective, that the healer knows best.

"I am not – _ah,_ that stings, damn you! – a dog."

Merlin resists mentioning the way Arthur's legs sometimes twitch in his sleep. "There, there," he murmurs as he gently spreads and pats the poultice into place. Then he clears his throat, looks Arthur straight in the eyes, and explains, "The sting's a good sign, sire. Means it's working. Gaius believes there is something in the saliva that speeds the healing."

"Codswallop." Arthur peers down at his chest. "Utter nonsense. Everyone knows your mouth is filthy. Well?"

"Well what?"

"I do have _two_ sore nipples, Merlin. I hope you haven't used up all that green gunk."

Peeved, Merlin crushes the pouch in his fist. He wants to fling it in Arthur's face, tell him to look after himself, then, if Merlin's spit isn’t good enough for him.

Then he has an idea. A perfect, dangerous idea. He relaxes his arm down by his side and discreetly bowls the pouch into the underbrush.

"You know what, sire, I have. How very silly of me. But – " Seeing Arthur's expression, Merlin holds up his hands to forestall any outburst. "I think this is a perfect opportunity to engage in science, don't you? A little field research, as it were. Poultice and spit versus – "

"Merlin, what are – "

" – spit alone. Here. Allow me." 

Arthur jerks at the first touch of Merlin's tongue – a tiny, testing flick at the margins of the reddened skin around his left nipple. Then his breath leaves him in a great big _whuff_ and he goes absolutely still. So Merlin tries another, a proper lick this time. He gets a quiet, indrawn hiss, then a querulous sound in the back of Arthur's throat, but no open protest. So he does it again…and again, working his way across the enflamed area surrounding the nipple itself. 

Arthur's heart is racing, the rhythm erratic, but as Merlin continues to lap at the swollen flesh it evens out to a steady thud. Merlin smiles against the plump curve of Arthur's pec, mouths, "That's it, sire. Easy now," as he pauses to work up more spit. 

He rests a hand on Arthur's shoulder and the other on his belly – it feels only natural to maintain the physical connection somehow as he shifts into a better position – and is surprised at the tension he finds there. He glances up. Arthur's eyes are closed, his head flung back. He looks like he's gritting his teeth.

"Arthur?" Merlin moves his thumbs, sweeping them to and fro over the warm, sweat-damp skin. He means it to be soothing, but it's not so easy to project an air of calm when his own pulse quickens at the touch. "Do you want me to stop?"

There is no reply, but Merlin feels a slight shift beneath his hand. He realises Arthur is pushing his left pec up, nearer Merlin's mouth, offering himself…

With a needy – probably very un-physician-like – sound, Merlin latches back on, taking the entire nipple in his mouth this time with a gentle suction, pressing his tongue to the swollen, ragged nub at its centre. 

Arthur bucks against him, swearing. Merlin holds on though, careful not to move his tongue, knowing the firm pressure and lingering traces of horsemint will soon lessen the burning sensation. He holds on until he's practically choking on his own spit, fighting the urge to suck harder or nibble the little button of sensitive flesh. Until drool is escaping the seal he's made with his lips because Arthur's chest is heaving under slow, deep breaths, and there is a tentative touch at the back of his neck – fingertips, groping blindly, rubbing against the nap of his hair. Then the full weight of a hand, a palm cupping his skull, holding him in place.

Arthur hums, a deep rumbly sound that vibrates up from his chest. Merlin echoes him as best he can, humming around his mouthful of tit. He releases the nipple only long enough to lap up the excess saliva – three broad swipes with the flat of his tongue – then returns to the gentle suction and pressure that makes Arthur squirm, and sigh, and dig his fingers into Merlin's hair.

He has no idea how long they remain like this, quietly push-pulling at one another in this odd embrace. His joints protest and his lips go a bit numb, but it's gone far beyond research or any jest. It's not a matter of life or death – nor of magic – but he's never felt this close to Arthur before, never felt so intimately _necessary._

Arthur's movements grow more restless, his hand tugging on Merlin's hair. Merlin pulls off with a reluctant sigh only to find he's being urged wordlessly towards the other nipple. 

He barely has time to wipe away the poultice before Arthur's angling his right pec up, pushing the nipple into Merlin's gasping mouth. At first all Merlin can do is messily lap at his skin, noting the different textures, tasting the grassy, minty traces of the herbs. But once he's caught his breath he pulls the whole teat firmly into his mouth and is rewarded by a deep groan.

Merlin indulges them both for a while, suckling until they are back in balance, breathing almost as one. He releases the nipple only when his jaw begins to ache. He touches the tip of his tongue to it, then gently blows, watching the skin pebble.

"Better now, sire?" he says, not daring to look up. Arthur's fingertips are still worrying the skin behind his ear, rubbing along his hairline.

"Mm." Arthur takes a slow, deep breath and releases it as a sigh – releases Merlin, too, in a fumbling gesture, as if his fingers have just recalled where they are, and starts to sit up. 

Caught off guard, Merlin pushes hastily back, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. He doesn’t fully process what it was his wrist had knocked against until he hears Arthur gasp, sees the way he fists his hands in his lap. 

"Sire? I – "

"Not your responsibility, Merlin."

Arthur's voice is rough, low. He angles his face away, towards the fire. After only a moment's hesitation, Merlin reaches out and plucks at his sleeve.

"But I… That is… Arthur, if you want, I have something for that, too."

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> This is totally what happened one of those times when they had to rescue some persons Uther didn't deem worthy of official Camelot knight rescuing... See Gaius' notes under unorthodox remedies for jogger's nipple if you don't believe me. ;-P


End file.
